Quantity is a quality of its own.
Excerpt from The Beasts of the Dungeon.
REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK p^o^q REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK
He shook off his regret with some effort, perception shifting until he was looking at the besieged Eastfort from above. Ah, there. "I see a path."
Marcus didn't wait for anyone to agree, teleporting them thrice in quick succession. The first landed them in a small clearing, the Hounds there almost seeming startled at their arrival, while the second got them up the hill. The last put them inside the fort, resting soldiers grasping for weapons at their arrival.
Elly waved them down, looking at the keep. "I need to speak with general Pator."
"And I'll go help with the defense," Marcus agreed, glancing at the ground. No Burrowers, for now. That would change. "But I have this nagging feeling that this one isn't going to subside."
She offered a light smile, voice quiet enough it wouldn't travel. "Then we'll be very glad we built that escape tunnel. Now go do something to inspire the troops, because morale is wavering."
Marcus nodded more out of habit than agreement, glancing at his soldiers. Tired, grim and nervous expressions met his own, so similar to the Legions but so very different.
The Imperial soldiers had looked tired, stressed and weary, but there wasn't grimness. They'd had faith they would make it out, had experience and weapons of last-resort. The Mirranian Royal Army, forged though it was in the fires of the invasion, didn't.
They would, some day, but that assumed they'd make it out of here alive. It assumed quite a lot, actually.
Marcus turned, dismissing his guards and beckoning his apprentices in one gesture. His Royal Guards were tired, he could see it in how they held themselves, and while Donna and Barcus looked more tired still, he had need of those two.
A twist of will and his point of view changed, looking at the battle from above. The gate was secure, the eastern and northern fronts were too, but at the south the army of Champions was approaching.
Oh, right. An actual army, moving as one group and presumably united under one leader. From what he knew about Champion politics, that didn't fill him with joy. It filled him with very much the opposite of joy.
He teleported both himself and his apprentices to the southern wall. The section he joined reacted appropriately, swords clearing scabbards and crossbows twisting to aim at them, but he wasn't actually fired upon.
Elly would be proud.
The captain in charge of the company he'd joined approached, the strangely young woman saluting sharply. Marcus nodded to her. "Captain. We're here to help."
"Understood, sir," the woman replied, tone much calmer than he'd been expecting. A thump came from above, likely a flying Hound smashing itself against the hoarding, but he paid it no mind. Neither did the captain, who'd turned back to her men. "Ten seconds, mark."
Some eighty soldiers echoed the command, crossbows exchanging hands and food being pulled from pouches. Marcus stepped closer to one of the small holes, the soldier stationed there stepping away without a word, and looked outside.
That really was a great many Hounds. A very, very great many Hounds. The writhing, snapping wave of bodies stretched as far as the eye could see, any pitfall trap long since filled with corpses. Only the steep slope was keeping them away, that and the slowly growing pile of bodies.
But the pile of bodies was also creating a ramp, and despite steepening the slope, they would eventually overcome it. Scale the wall itself and flood them with sheer numbers.
Marcus focused, absentmindedly annoyed at his own lack of crowd control. Spatial arcs were good, very good, but he'd made them for the sake of efficiency. And seeing two regular—if particularly powerful—Imperial mages clear fifteen thousand Hounds in seconds made him question if that was always best.
Donna and Barcus had stepped up next to him in the time he'd been contemplating, the former almost bouncing on her feet while the latter watched the horde with a mild expression. Marcus cleared his throat, indicating the approaching army of Champions.
"That's our priority," he began, pointing out the siege towers. Crude things, by all accounts, but numerous. And made specifically to scale the slope. "Your task is to destroy them. Be efficient."
One hardly needed to slice war engines in half to destroy them, after all. He could usually get away with it, a spatial arc being only a fourth tier spell, but his apprentices couldn't. Not even close.
Well, that was technically inaccurate. Their spatial spells were just… crude. Even at fourth tier, which both were on the cusp of, they wouldn't be as refined as his own. And wow, that had gotten rather insulting. Best to translate that before he gave them their feedback.
His apprentices moved, shaking him out of his own thoughts. They'd stepped closer to the arrowslit, peering outside and whispering back and forth. Picking targets, maybe, or discussing the optimal distance to prevent power leakage.
Marcus left them to it, sweeping his sight over the castle. It took some focus to do that, and it was inadvisable to actually weave magic while his perspective was shifted, but it offered quite the vantage point. Gave him the ability to spot problems.
Such as a hole opening in the middle of the courtyard, swallowing half a forge and the two men working on it. Marcus stepped to the opposite wall, looking down into the courtyard with his own eyes and teleporting.
The hole yawned under him a split-second later, maybe two having passed since it opened. The men were still falling, faces going from surprised to fearful, and he pulled them back. Then sliced two spatial arcs down there in a crossed pattern, the hundred or so Hounds racing up the steep side cut to pieces.
Not all of them, but enough to make the entire attack collapse in on itself. He turned to the soldiers just arriving, nodding at the hole. "Get a mage to seal that, and pull some from the walls if needed. That can't happen again."
The lieutenant nodded quickly, too harried to salute. Marcus didn't mind, especially not since the man moved to obey, and resumed his sweep of the perimeter.
One siege engine had gotten rather close to the northern wall, seemingly studded with metal plating. No idea where the Champions had gotten metal, of all things, but it looked scavenged. Marcus sliced it in half all the same, the spatial arc finishing what stone and fire had begun.
Four more issues were resolved before he returned to his apprentices, using as little power as possible for each. He'd taken it fairly easy on the way back, not wanting to collapse the moment they'd returned to the Eastfort, but even so he was only on half reserves.
This particular army didn't look like a 'half reserves is plenty' kind of problem.
By the time he returned, the siege towers had closed the distance, more scavenged metal adorning their construction. He briefly wondered how in the Hells they'd build all of this without their notice, but he set it aside a moment later. It didn't matter, and frankly he didn't really care.
"Metal is harder to split apart than wood," he advised lightly, watching the pair slowly weave their spatial arcs. The distance required a tightly woven spell, but he approved. Better to take their time when possible. "But armor is quite pointless without legs."
No response came, but when the pair fired their spells, they aimed low. They aimed for the primitive wheels and the support beams which carried the most load. And predictably, the rough construction didn't hold.
Two siege towers toppled, killing or wounding however many were inside, and Marcus waved a hand when they turned to him. "Don't let me stop you now."
He smiled in approval after they'd gotten back to work, their magical reserves plummeting but each arc demolishing its target. Neither of them were going to turn the tide of battle, but each siege tower they broke was one he didn't have to waste time on.
Which was when he spotted the catapults.
A whole line of them, fourteen in all. His perception strained as he focused, and he saw each was crewed by Champions. Large rocks were being dragged in crude carts, centaur Hounds harnessed like actual horses, and the sight was so jarring he almost froze.
The Hounds were wild, crazed beasts. The Burrowers were big worms. Even the Calamity he and Elly had fought was more monster than anything else, if a lethally dangerous one. But this? Actual coordination? Construction and planning? The Champions were moderately intelligent, as much as any human was, but nowhere had he read about this.
Yet he only almost froze, and the catapults were still setting up. Would still have to be pushed closer. But it would take a concentrated effort to get to them, require a team that would take at least an hour to assemble, and by then those stones would be sailing towards the Eastfort. Breaking holes into their roofing, which in turn would let flying Hounds pour inside, and that was ignoring the psychological effect of being bombarded.
Marcus forced his perception out, inspecting the catapults. Guarded but not excessively so, and those guards seemed mostly focused on keeping the Hounds away. Literally pushing them back, even, which earned them vicious growling but little more.
A teleportation spell was woven, a location chosen and doubt pushed aside. Marcus twisted, crossing three thousand feet of hostile territory to stand in its one clearing. A throwing spear skittered off his shield moments later, the one lucky Champion soon joined by others. But it had skittered off the shield inlaid in his scale armor, which left him all five matrices to work with.
One or two spatial arcs would slice the catapults apart without issue, but unlike the siege towers, these would be relatively easy to put back together again. So four fire matrices linked together, the fifth weaving one for wind, and a long second after his arrival, light enveloped the small clearing.
The fire burned so hot he was forced to drop his wind matrix in favor of elemental protection, which spared the furthest three war machines from his wrath, but that was alright. Marcus skipped forward, crossing a hundred feet in an instant, and burned the last three too.
Champions were reacting now, more projectiles flying his way as hulking not-Orcs drew their weapons, but he was done here. He forced his perception back to the Eastfort, teleporting to his apprentices a moment later.
Marcus straightened slowly, the pair turning to look. That had taken, what? Fifteen seconds? Less? Silent Gods, he loved being able to teleport.
A wave of weakness swept over him, strong enough to almost knock him off his feet, and blood started dripping from his nose. Marcus braced himself against the wall, trying to blink away a splitting migraine.
He was not going to pass out. That would be embarrassing, and he hadn't done anything all that intense. Just forced a teleport while his perception was altered, then did it again, while draining most of his remaining reserves into massive elemental fireballs.
Marcus heard a panicked shout and wondered why fish never grew limbs, then collapsed a moment later.
REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK p^o^q REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK
He woke up to a voice. A nice, soothing voice. A voice he liked, bickered alongside and sometimes even found himself agreeing with. It was also being mean, which was rude.
"-and then you fall unconscious?" Elly demanded, more exasperated than upset. That was nice. Wait, did she even know he was awake? "I can hear your heartbeat speeding up, Marcus."
No she couldn't. Could she? He looked at her, opening his eyes and scowling. "I won't keep tolerating this rude disrespect you keep heaping onto me, wife. Maybe one, two more decades and I'll lose my temper."
"Then stop being so inconsistent," she snapped, folding her arms. Her lips were twitching, though, which was good. He didn't like Elly being upset with him. "Oh, there goes Marcus again. Just teleports deep behind enemy lines, wipes out the surprise catapults everyone had only just about started panicking over, and returns before you can even ask 'what the fuck, where did the King go?'. If you hadn't dropped moments later, I might actually be somewhat impressed."
Marcus hummed, sitting up from where he'd been laying. Elly's hand was on his shoulder a moment later, trying to push him back down, but he swatted it away. Standing took a moment longer, and he had to endure a surge of dizziness, but it passed quickly.
"First of all, bad tone. You went from angry to sarcastic to grudgingly impressed, which is just all over the place. Secondly, can I have some water?"
He was holding a cup before he could blink, suppressing the urge to mock her for her speed. Thirst was far more pressing, which now that he was thinking about it, implied he'd been here a while.
Marcus yanked the cup away mid-sip, spilling half the water. "How- fuck, sorry. How long was I out?"
"Only about an hour," she replied soothingly, taking the cup away. "The Champions retreated soon after your attack, which is worrying in its own way, and while the Hounds are as aggressive as always, we can weather those. It's the pattern I don't like."
He grunted. "Yeah. First siege towers, now catapults and carts. Proper guards, organization, knowing when to retreat. Champions aren't supposed to be this organized."
"They're not," Elly agreed. "But now they are, so we have to deal with it. You feel alright enough to show your face? We can't have you vanish mid-battle."
Marcus rolled his eyes, headache spiking briefly before settling. Nothing he hadn't dealt with before. "I'll be fine. Go worry about the army, if you please. They're holding together better than we have any right to expect, but everyone has their breaking point."
"You included," she sniped. Marcus leveled a mild glare at her, Elly raising a hand in surrender. "I'm done, promise. But no pressuring yourself, got it? Walk around, smile, wave, whatever, but no fighting. I'll be very displeased if you do."
He grumbled some after she left, mostly inarticulate words just in case she was still listening, then drank some more water. Actually ate the lunch someone had left by his bed, hesitating slightly before purging his body of all poison.
The expenditure of magic intensified his migraine, not to mention the pain that accompanied the spell, but at least his paranoia was satisfied. With that dealt with he actually left the room, finding his usual complement of Royal Guards waiting for him.
Right, they were under siege again. Lovely. Marcus cleared his throat, fully enclosed faces turning to him in perfect silence. "I'm going to walk around a little. Maybe see if the infirmary needs some help in an hour or two."
The guards didn't reply, moving alongside him when he started down the hall. When he got outside he half expected the Eastfort to be burning, but no. There was battle and there were wounded, but it was mostly peaceful.
An hour of 'look the King isn't dead' later found him in the outer courtyard, tilting his head when he found a group of Imperial soldiers. Or at least not soldiers belonging to him, though either way those souls looked a little too well equipped for regular infantry.
He set off towards them, not having anything better to do. The group of fourteen did not, to his mild surprise, greet him. Most just kept lounging in the little corner that they'd claimed, a middle aged man the only one to rise to his feet.
"Archmage," the man said, nodding once. "Our thanks for hosting us."
Marcus hummed, resisting the urge to ask them who they were. His Royal Guards sure didn't like them, though, with how they started to half surround the group. His apparent guests seemed unbothered. "Of course. How are you finding your stay so far?"
"Lengthy," the stranger replied, his lips quirking briefly. "But much less deadly than outside these walls. Have you been told who we are, Archmage?"
Well now, that was an interesting statement. There was confidence there, an arrogance that usually came from power, but only a few of these men and women were mages. One could claim to be a Life Enhancement warrior, if not a strong one.
And yet the man flirted with rudeness. With disrespect, uncaring even while within a fortress they very much did not control. Marcus hummed. "You're a retrieval team."
"So we are," the man replied, bowing almost mockingly. "We had barely started carving up your kill before we were interrupted, and only just about made it to the Eastfort alive. Without our spoils, I should add. I'm impressed, however. Some people look down on the more unsubtle Calamities, but I say it takes strength to survive without a brain."
Marcus tilted his head, honestly curious. "You hold a guarantee of safety from the Empress, and Otmon warned me she takes that seriously. I met her, you know? Her and her son. Nice people. A little pressed for time, but then so was I. It makes you basically untouchable."
"Good to see everyone knows where they're standing." The man nodded again, turning back to his group. "Do let me know when you've won the day, Archmage. We have work to do."
And then the man dismissed him. Not verbally, but a dismissal all the same. How… refreshing. Marcus half expected to feel anger, or at least indignation, but nothing. Just mild curiosity blended with bemusement.
Right then, what would Elly do? Probably have them hanged, but then she hated the Empire. If it was just him he would have probably turned around and continued with his day, but no. They had an audience, and he was a King.
Royalty relied on the illusion of power, which now that he thought about it was actually quite funny. Arguably the most powerful person on the continent was an illusion Archmage. Hah.
What to do? A display of magic was out of the question, he didn't actually want to get any of his own people killed, and the Empress would be upset if any of them died.
Apparently people insane, skilled and daring enough to butcher the corpses of Calamities were hard to come by.
Eh, he'd think of something later. And this group did, in fact, pose a security risk. "Put our guests somewhere more secure. Unfortunately, prison is the only spare room we have. I'm sure you understand."
His Royal Guards surged forward, the retrieval team climbing to their feet. Hands found weapons, grins starting to adorn the strangers' faces, but before any blood could be shed a few enterprising captains called on their men.
They were insane enough to butcher Calamities, but apparently facing some four hundred soldiers, two dozen Royal Guards and another few dozen mages was a step too far. Well, that and the fact their spokesperson ordered them to stand down.
The man was grinning as he did it, too. Strange fellow.
He heaved an internal shrug as the group was disarmed and escorted away. What had he been doing, again? Oh, right. Finding his apprentices. Those had to be around here somewhere.
Marcus turned, the retrieval team already delegated to a less important part of his brain. There was a siege to be lifted, and flippant—not to mention lazy—specialists weren't part of that.